


kiss me from above

by ShatterinSeconds



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Minor Violence, Slice of Life, but still probably the fluffiest apocalypse au you’ll ever read, minor mentions of blood, they're married, very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 22:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20181502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatterinSeconds/pseuds/ShatterinSeconds
Summary: “Is the great Keith Kogane-McClain asking me for a dance?” Lance smirks, watching Keith with a glimmer in his dark eyes.“Not if you’re going to be like that.” Despite his words, Keith doesn’t retract his hand and Lance finally grabs hold.Lance quickly takes the lead as he finds the rhythm in the familiar music with ease and Keith is dragged along for the experience. They stumble unexpectedly as Keith almost trips over his own feet and Lance laughs at him, nose pressing into Keith’s cheek. “How is it,” Lance whispers so the music can be heard, “that after all this time you still have two left feet?”“Maybe you’re just a terrible teacher.”(or a very fluff filled apocalypse AU)





	kiss me from above

**Author's Note:**

> This entire oneshot was inspired by Bastille’s recent album Doom Days--though I mostly had only Another Place on loop while writing. 
> 
> Also I’m sure my explanation of the apocalyptic world is not entirely scientifically accurate but just go with it/don’t read too much into it.
> 
> Anyways, I guarantee that this is the fluffiest apocalypse AU you'll ever read so enjoy!!

_ (12:15 am) _

Once upon a time, the world was whole. Once upon a time, Keith wandered alone, only having a plan to survive one day at a time. Both of these things are no longer true. 

“Keith,” Lance says with a laugh when his hands find the bare patch of skin Lance’s shirt revealed when he stretched. “We need to go.” 

Keith only hums, a confirmation that he heard what Lance said but nothing more. Under the full moon, Lance shines, the silver light drenching his hair and skin. His hair tousled effortlessly, smile bright, and dimples apparent. It’s the apocalypse; no one should be able to look  _ this  _ beautiful. Yet, here’s Lance, defying all logic. It’s no wonder why Keith is always starstruck. 

“Don’t blame me when we’re off schedule this time.” Lance’s lips are close to Keith’s ear, breath blowing across his skin.

“I won’t if you give me a kiss.”

“You drive a hard bargain. But it’s a price I’m willing to pay,” Lance says as he leans in with a smile. With a soft inhale, Keith dives forward before Lance can bridge the gap. The kisses are tender at first, gentle tugs as their bodies angle closer together, more than they already were. Lance’s hands weave into Keith’s hair and he grips Lance’s waist. The pads of his fingers press into the coarse material of his pants, trying to gain purchase. 

When Lance’s teeth begin to nip at Keith’s bottom lip, Keith pulls back, enough for there to be a slight pop, mouths glistening. “I can’t have you making us late now.”

Lance sighs, blue eyes amused. “Well damn, you discovered my master plan. How dare you.”

Keith allows a small smile on his face. “Mission accomplished.”

Midnight is when their day begins, having to sleep when the sun appears in the sky--its rays now too hot and heavy and deadly to do anything other than rest. Not that the night poses any less of a threat but it is easier to survive. They have been enduring this for their whole lives. 

On the windshield of their truck lies a light misting of rain that has already stopped by the time they walk outside. Keith’s boots sink into the dirt as they make their way towards their truck, and his hair curls from the onslaught of humidity left behind by the rain. 

Lance throws him the keys, already sliding into the passenger seat. “Your turn to drive,” he states without room for refusal. It takes a few tries to close the truck door before it finally latches as Keith settles into the driver’s side. Their night has officially commenced.

_ (12:48 am) _

Ten minutes late to the place they plan to scavenge and they cross paths with a known group of belligerent raiders. Keith and Lance see the others first, able to scramble quickly inside the abandoned building to formulate a haphazard plan. 

Kneeling behind some stacked crates, Lance fiddles with his gun, checking how many bullets he has and unlocking the safety. 

“You have enough?” Keith asks, eyes raking over Lance’s serious expression.

“I’ll be fine.” The smile is tight lipped and doesn’t give Keith hope. But he trusts Lance. A hand rests on Keith’s shoulder as Lance leans in to place a kiss on his cheek. “We have nothing to worry about. This group seems like a bunch of amateurs.” 

Before Keith can respond, Lance scrambles up some metal stairs to have a better vantage point while Keith stays on the ground, walking out of the shadows to be in the enemy’s plain sight. A hand rests on the hilt of his sword.

Cataloging every member of the group, mainly searching for any pre-existing injuries to exploit in a fight, Keith notices that they have only come equipped with nailed bats and other types of makeshift clubs. There’s a slight edge knowing that he and Lance have the more durable weapons but the raiders have the numbers and can easily overwhelm them. 

Stationed on an old rusted set of stairs, Lance picks off the few in the front first, a shot to an arm, a leg… nothing life threatening but something that makes them useless in the coming battle. From below, Keith watches as Lance twists his lips as he concentrates on lining up his shot perfectly. They don’t have much in terms of spare ammo, one of the reasons why Keith doesn’t carry or use a gun, but Lance makes every bullet count.

Once the rest are in range, some having scattered behind crates once the shots started, Keith unsheathes the sword strapped to his back and Lance jumps down to help. No matter how confident Keith is in his own abilities and Lance’s, leaping into the fray always causes his heart to race. 

There’s always that what if. 

What if they both die; what if he dies; what if  _ Lance  _ dies?

Keith’s quick footwork helps him evade the blow from a larger attacker. A wave of force whips his hair against his face as the club lands right where his body had been a second earlier. With the attacker’s left side unguarded, he swings his sword, another enemy landing with a heap on the ground as they press a hand to their side.

Lance trades blows in hand to hand combat with two people as his gun had been knocked out of his hand. Dodging their fists as best he can, Lance is a whirlwind, a roundhouse kick clipping one of his attackers unexpectedly in the head. But the person only stumbles slightly, regaining their balance quick and pulling out a hunting knife from their boot. 

“Keith!” Lance calls out and without thought Keith throws his sword to Lance. With a quick catch, Lance disarms the two people around him, knocking the hilt of the sword into one’s head--they finally fall this time--and wounding the other with a light, quick slash to their chest.

Keith’s view is blocked as suddenly he throws his forearms up to deflect a piece of wood from crashing down on top of his head. His skin screams, tiny splinters pricking him, but he has no time to reach for his dagger strapped to his hip. Noticing the predicament, the older man kicks Keith’s legs out from under him. He falls hard, biting the inside of his cheek and tasting blood. Spitting before quickly rolling to the side before a boot can slam into his ribs, Keith reaches for his dagger before the man can smash his head in. He doesn’t even have time to use it as a shadow falls over them, steps coming up behind his opponent. 

The older man falls to the ground, screaming as he clutches his legs and his torn tendons. 

“That’s not a pretty sight,” Lance comments, a wild laugh on the edge of his lips. He looks frighteningly beautiful, a patch of blood smeared on his cheek--not his own--and his hand gripping Keith’s sword.

He’s a goddamn knight in shining armor.

_ (1:22 am) _

“Again?” Keith has to ask though he will always indulge Lance’s wishes. 

A bruise has started to appear on Lance’s jaw and his chest heaves with leftover adrenaline, but he grins wickedly. Wind flowing through the open window tousles his hair even more, locks brushing across his forehead before he pushes them back. “Of course. We have time, don’t we?”

Keith briefly side-eyes him as he concentrates on the dirt road ahead, weaving around discarded junk people have abandoned over the years. Most of it is old, rusted and overgrown with weeds that try to reclaim it back into the earth. Some of it is new though, and they are always on the lookout for a possible treasure someone had to drop for one reason or another. 

It’s best not to think why. 

“You know I always make time for it.”

Lance pokes Keith’s arm as if wanting to distract him. “And that’s why you’re my favorite person,”

Keith smirks. “I should hope so.”

There’s a scoff as Lance swings his head to make sure the full force of his stare is ripping into Keith. “Arrogance isn’t a good look on you.”

At that moment, Keith allows himself to look at Lance, cockiness coursing through him. “Oh, but I learned from the best.”

With a dramatic gasp, Lance punches him in the shoulder, but with his fist sore from the previous fight, it harms Lance more than Keith. He hisses as he retracts his hand, shaking it slightly. Keith only smiles. 

“You’re so mean,” Lance pouts.

“And yet you love me.”

Lance laughs, eyes glimmering as bright as the stars. “I have no clue why since you’re always  _ so  _ rude.”

Without looking, Keith teasingly pushes Lance’s face away, palm pressing on Lance’s cheek. “Because I take you to your favorite place.”

After he slaps Keith’s hand away, Lance replies, “I could do with a little less snark, especially when I just saved your beautiful ass.”

“How’s the score now?” Keith inquires, genuinely curious and tone now serious.

Lance stares at the ceiling of the car for a moment, presumably tracking the invisible tallies of who saved who how many times. Out of the corner of his eye, Keith watches him bite his lip in thought before responding with an answer. “I think we’re even.”

“Should make for an interesting tie breaker when there’s a fight next time.”

“Ah, ah,” Lance shakes his head, fingers drumming on his thighs. “We should be focusing on not getting into dire situations. I, for one, would love to have a fun supply trip. Maybe listening to some funky tunes, snacking on expired goodies, enjoying you.” Lance’s stare suddenly weighs more heavily on Keith’s body.

“We still do all those things,” Keith says quietly.

“Yeah, but I’d rather go without having my heart rate spike every time I think I’m about to lose you.” Suddenly Lance’s gaze turns grim, serious to the point where Keith has to keep his eyes on the road before he breaks. “I don’t… I  _ can’t  _ lose you too.”

“I know,” Keith replies softly. His grip tightens on the wheel. “I have similar nightmares.”

Lance’s hand rests on top of his thigh, and nothing more is said for the rest of the drive.    
  


The ocean is too polluted to swim in anymore but you can still taste the salt on your tongue of memories from long ago. Lance runs across the sand, grains kicking up behind him, and Keith chases after him. With his hand grazing the back of Lance’s shirt, a centimeter away from grabbing him, Lance shrieks, darting to the side. Keith tumbles forward, unexpectedly losing that support. 

Lance’s laugh only dulls the ache for a moment, and he sends a harsh glare to the man grinning above him. “You’re such a loser, Keith.” Lance rests his hands on his hips as he leans forward, smile glowing.

“ _ You’re  _ the loser.”

“You take that back. I’m perfect.”

Keith reaches up to poke him in the nose. “A brat.”

Lance sticks his tongue out in retaliation and he kneels on the ground behind Keith. His fingers run through Keith’s hair, brushing away the sand and pulling his long bangs away from his eyes. Smiling, Lance places a kiss on Keith’s forehead and Keith closes his eyes at the touch. A quick spark of cool metal makes contact with his skin and he’s once again gazing into a blue ocean. 

There’s no sun to glint off of Lance’s ring, but even here in the dark, Keith can see the slim silver band, the same color as the glowing moon. His own adds a comforting weight to his hand. They had slipped a ring on each other’s finger about two years ago, but with dates and calendars and other devices to keep time no longer important, their anniversary comes whenever they have a desire to celebrate. Sometimes it’s just a celebration that they are still alive after another year, still beside each other, still carving out a place for themselves. 

They are as married as one can be in the apocalypse, and it’s perfect.

_ (2:05 am) _

As with everyone around his age, Keith had been born well after the world fell to ruin. If he remembered his parents, or if they lived long enough for him to remember them, they probably would have been able to tell him tales about the old world--maybe as bedtime stories. 

But that's not how Keith's childhood worked. He only knows this one life and can't imagine anything before it.

From what Lance has shared over the years, he had a normal childhood for living in an apocalypse. He was born in an established community with plenty of food rations and other resources. Until raiders came when he was eleven and he escaped into the world to fend for himself. It's been fifteen years since then; Lance still searches for his lost family. It hurts Keith, feeling Lance’s shuddering body at night beside him as he cries himself through a nightmare, as all he can do is wrap his arms tight around his husband, cradle him close, and whisper calm words into his ear. 

Lance is no closer to finding his family than the day he ran--the only thing he can really do is believe they are all alive. 

It had been a summer night when they met, roughly six years ago. They both hit a salvage site at the same time, stumbling into each other in their haste to get in and get out. Keith had landed on top of the then stranger, earning a knee to his groin before he could speak. As he laid on the ground, throat clenching from the sharp press of a knife against his neck, his eyes caught sight of the man now straddling him.

“Oh,” the stranger said, “You’re not bad.”

“W-what?” Keith finally spoke, almost choking it out.

“You’re  _ pretty _ .” 

Keith’s nose scrunched as if the man insulted him. “What does that make you?”

A cheshire grin spread across the man’s face, blue eyes glinting, and as he leaned closer to Keith’s face, and further into the dim shadow of light, Keith spotted freckles scattered across his brown skin.  _ Cute.  _ “I’m gorgeous. You should feel lucky to even have met me.”

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it now. I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

The man cocked his head to the side, brows furrowed. “I’m not going to kill you. What makes you think that?”

“The knife to my throat,” Keith deadpanned, wondering if his throat would survive the attempt of trying to buck this man off him.

Blinking, the stranger sheepishly grimaced as he pulled the weapon away. “Ha, sorry about that.”

“Apology not accepted,” Keith growled.

“You’re a rude one.” He sucked in a breath as his eyes darted over every inch of Keith’s face. The most appalled expression Keith had ever seen warped the man’s expression the longer those blue eyes lingered on him. “I know this is the apocalypse and all, but do you  _ really  _ have a mullet?” 

“Okay, that’s it.” Keith gracelessly pushed the man off him, hearing him land with a thump and a yelp on the floor as Keith stood. “Please don’t follow me when I leave,” Keith said, brushing off his jeans. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

Propping himself up with his elbow, the man glared at Keith, blue eyes almost a midnight coloring. Menacing. “Oh trust me, I  _ never  _ want to see you again.”

What a wonderful lie that had been.

_ (2:39 am) _

While the world may have ended, it is still beautiful. Beauty in the people if not the landscapes anymore. Beauty in finding love in such a fucked up world. 

As Lance sits in the sand, lazily pushing it back in forth with his hands, Keith wanders back to their truck. He bangs on the radio until an old disk they had found a long time ago clicks into place and music wobbles first but then soars through the speakers. It’s a song from many decades ago, whose title and artist have long been forgotten but the essence of it remains. This is their song now; they’ve claimed it. 

Startled, Lance arches his head back at the sound, and when Keith reaches him again, he only holds out his hand. 

“Is the great Keith Kogane-McClain asking me for a dance?” Lance smirks, watching Keith with a glimmer in his dark eyes. 

“Not if you’re going to be like that.” Despite his words, Keith doesn’t retract his hand and Lance finally grabs hold. He uses Keith as a lever to lift himself from the sand, practically stumbling into Keith from the extra force he added. Keith’s other hand immediately rests on Lance’s back; fingers drift over his spine.

Lance quickly takes the lead as he finds the rhythm in the familiar music with ease and Keith is dragged along for the experience. They stumble unexpectedly as Keith almost trips over his own feet and Lance laughs at him, nose pressing into Keith’s cheek. “How is it,” Lance whispers so the music can be heard, “that after all this time you still have two left feet?”

Keith’s sharp glare doesn’t even crack Lance’s amusement. “Maybe you’re just a terrible teacher.”

A quiet laugh passes between them as Lance shakes his head. “You’re a bad student.”

“You’ll just have to continue teaching me,” Keith says, lips pressing into Lance’s skin.

“Hm,” Lance hums and he slows down their tempo so they sway together. “My work is never done.”

They continue to dance through disaster. 

_ (3:07 am) _

There’s not much to tell about how the world ended. It started with the climate crisis and ended in misery. More than half of the world’s population has died, and those who survive are cold and heartless. They thrive in the darkness now, newborn kids never knowing the touch of a soft summer sun on their skin as they relax outside. 

Instead, the world burns. During the day, temperatures reach close to two hundred degrees fahrenheit in the worst parts on Earth, and all creatures, who have adapted in their own ways, hide, mostly underground. There are stories of huge underground metropolises where human activity still flourishes as a civilization. To most, to those who skulk through the night to scavenge for food and supplies for their own hideaways, this is nothing more than a myth. 

Keith and Lance have always lived in the northern region of whatever country once claimed the land. History no longer applies to them--to anyone left. The north is cooler, still uninhabitable during the day but the sun’s rays can mostly be warded off with an underground basement. 

Feral animals and savage humans roam every inch of space once the sun sets, but they have managed to make a living out of the crap left behind by past generations. It’s the only thing they can call home. And they make the most out of it, together.

_ (3:28 am) _

They are attacked on the way back to the truck. Animals this time, instead of other humans, probably lured by the music and Keith’s stupidity. The normal nocturnal animals only became more aggressive after the world ended, and it’s not a shock that a few beasts circle them now. Their large, deformed bodies are almost hairless. Patches of skin reddened as if sunburnt and pus-filled abscesses cover every inch. Some of these animals are blind, but they all have a fantastic sense of smell and speed. 

Keith slowly unsheathes his sword, not wanting to startle the beasts with his movement, while his other hand lingers on the small of Lance’s back. 

“Shit,” Lance spits out, hearing the growls circling them. It’s dark, so it is difficult to count how many animals they actually face. A simple echo can make two beasts sound like ten. Lance draws out his gun, locking in a new clip. 

Lance immediately shoots one beast in the head as it begins to pounce on Keith, watching its mutated body crash to the ground, a cloud of dust surrounding the carcass. Another charges from the shadows and Lance kills it quickly. At this rate, Keith can almost convince himself that he’s not needed, Lance’s marksmanship on point, but with a quick head tilt, he catches sight of more behind them.

“Hey, Lance, I--”

“Ahah,” Lance suddenly cuts him off as two more gunshots ring around them. “Don’t you dare finish whatever you’re about to say. We got this. This is just a normal day for us.” When Keith has a moment to take his eyes off the animals, pulling his sword from the back of one, Lance’s determined blue gaze fills his vision. There’s a quirk to his lips that Keith finds comforting. “We. Got. This.”

Keith nods with his own partial smile. “Okay.”

They work together as a perfect team as they always have. Back to back, slaying the animals that charge them. In the end there had only been a dozen total, but the larger, more ferocious ones stayed back as long as possible. These take more than one bullet to bring them down and Lance curses again. 

“Fucking useless.” He tosses his empty gun away, reaching wordlessly behind him for Keith’s dagger. Lance twirls it in his hand before finding the right grip and slashes at the next beast.

“Show off,” Keith comments with his back turned; he knows the exact expression on Lance’s face. Goofy grin and bright eyes.

“Eyes on the enemy,” Lance says before chuckling, “Wouldn’t want you to get distracted now, would we?” With a brief moment of rest, Keith turns as Lance shoots him the cheekiest smirk.

“The only one distracted here is you...” Keith trails off when Lance’s face falls to shock. 

“Keith! Keith! Watch--” Lance shoves Keith to the ground before he completes his warning. Tumbling before he’s able to anchor himself, Keith immediately scrambles to stand only to watch Lance grapple with a beast on top of him. It’s teeth bite the ground as Lance quickly moves his head to the side, struggling to get out from under it. 

Right as Keith reaches him, sword aloft, the claws of the last beast rip into Lance’s forearm and he howls.

_ (4:00 am) _

“I can patch myself up,” Lance whispers. One lantern lights a small area before them, both of their figures mostly shadowed, eyes reflecting the glow of the bulb. The warehouse they have haphazardly camped out in after escaping the beasts is completely abandoned but caution is always a necessity. “You should keep watch or search for supplies. I’m fine.”

Remaining silent, Keith focuses on the sterilized needle in his hand and the thread he has to poke through the small hole. His tongue sticks out the side of his mouth as he concentrates--it takes five tries. “This’ll hurt,” is all he says and then tacks on, “I’m sorry.”

A short gasp breaks through Lance’s tight lips as Keith diligently stitches the gash closed--Keith winces at the sound though this has to be done. Any type of numbing agent has long since disappeared; both of them are too used to this type of pain now. A bloody rag sits beside Lance’s arm but the wound stopped bleeding a minute ago. 

“And, Lance,” Keith speaks again, reaching for strips of cloth. He stares at Lance until the other finally lifts his head, blue eyes almost yellow from the lantern. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Even after all these years, it’s difficult for Lance to understand that Keith is never going to leave him, at least not willingly, but Keith has no problem reminding Lance whenever he needs it. 

Gently, Keith holds Lance’s hand in his own, lethargically wrapping the bandage around the stitched up wound on his forearm--long and jagged but not too deep. It’ll scar, but what is one more scar among thousands of others? They just have to hope no infection sets in. Keith kisses Lance’s scuffed knuckles to mark the completion of his efforts. 

A dimple appears when Lance sends him a small smile. “Thank you.”

Reaching up, almost subconsciously, Keith tugs on a lock of Lance’s hair that has started to hang in front of his eyes and brushes it back to have a clear view of Lance’s gaze. “You need a haircut soon, love.” Lance’s hair has started to curl widely at the nape of his neck too. Unkempt, so unlike him.

“Maybe I just want a mullet of my own.” 

Keith quirks his lips. “Careful or I might think that you’ve been replaced with a look-a-like.” 

“Does it really look that bad?” Lance has to ask. His eyes flicker around the dark warehouse as if searching for a mirror, and his hand pats the back of his neck. 

“No, you never look terrible.” Dark bags hang under Lance’s eyes and bruises litter his skin more often than not but he is still incredibly beautiful. Lance’s blue eyes have never dimmed in their intensity; his smile has never fractured… at least not when Keith is around. 

“Thanks for lying, sweetheart,” Lance replies with a laugh, despite the fact that Keith never lies to him. 

_ (4:52 am) _

“Does it still hurt?” Keith asks, jolting Lance from a brief nap. His head had been resting on Keith’s shoulder, nose nuzzling into his neck and hair. The gentle puff of air against his skin would have lulled Keith to sleep if he hadn’t been so intent on keeping watch. 

Blinking away the remnants of drowsiness, Lance stares at the bandages; a splotch of red stained the off-white material in the initial minutes of dressing the wound, but it has not spread since. “No,” he replies quickly, eyes drifting back to Keith. 

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I never do.” Lance smirks.

A quiet chuckle splatters the air between them as Keith shakes his head. “Liar.”

Lance raises an eyebrow, a challenge to Keith’s statement. Something teasingly dangerous lurks in Lance’s gaze. “You don’t believe me?” he asks casually, standing up without warning. Keith scrambles to follow with a few steps backwards, unsure if Lance needs room for… whatever is about to happen. Slight concern is present on Keith’s features, and Lance’s grin widens. “I guess I’ll just have to show you.” Stripping off his shirt in one fluid motion, Lance faces Keith with determination. “Come here, pretty boy.” 

Keith obliges without hesitation. 

Scars litter every inch of Lance’s brown skin--too many of them are recent and too many of them had been life threatening. In this thin layer of darkness however, the shadows hide those marks, but Keith knows they are there. He has memorized every one. Confused, Keith doesn’t reach out to touch Lance, though his fingers twitch to do so--wanting to feel the warm skin under his palms, feel Lance’s breath against his throat before being led into ecstasy. 

“What are you doing?” 

Lance’s hands frame Keith’s face as they draw closer together. “Showing you how  _ fine  _ I am,” he whispers before trapping any response with a kiss. 

Keith melts; it’s the only thing he can do. Dragging Lance closer to his body, Keith dives further in, causing Lance to chase his lips with a soft whine. Lance’s hands gravitate towards Keith’s hair, never having been able to leave it alone for long, and wraps his fingers in the thick locks. 

“Are you convinced yet?” Lance has the gall to whisper before biting the shell of Keith’s ear

“No,” Keith replies, hands gripping onto Lance’s body, “Show me more.”

Lance’s smirk is his only warning before he is pushed onto the bed of tarps behind him--not the comfiest makeshift bed but it works. The surprise still jerks a yelp from Keith’s mouth. “You asked for it,” is what Lance says in place of an apology. 

Laughing, Keith smooths out the tarps for a second before gesturing to Lance. “Come here.”

“So bossy.” Lance kisses him from above. His hand lingers on Keith’s chest before gravitating up his neck and into his hair, again, grabbing a fist full in his palm. Arching his head, Keith sucks on Lance’s lower lip; his teeth pull at it gently. His own hands rest on Lance’s hips and he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of his thighs. With each kiss, he tugs down Lance’s pants. 

“You’re still clothed, love,” Lance breathes into Keith’s ear, “And it offends me.”

“If you want them off, do the work yourself,” Keith says, a glint in his eyes, “since you’re feeling  _ so  _ fine, after all.”

“Wow, Keith, I saved your ass  _ twice  _ today, which means I’m winning, and this is how you repay me?”

“You love undressing me, don’t deny it.”

Lance hoists Keith’s shirt over his head, but not without complications as Keith struggles with wanting to cause Lance as much hassle as possible and needing to feel Lance’s hands on his skin. That wish comes soon enough. Lance’s fingers dance lightly over Keith’s scarred chest; they trace an indecipherable pattern as they wander their way down to his pants. Lance smirks, hands ceasing in movement an inch above the waist, and tilts his head. “I can never fool you, can I?” 

“You’re an open book.”

Lance soon brings him to the brink of bliss just as he always planned to before they dive over the edge together.

_ (5:46 am) _

Keith keeps watch on their temporary resting place as Lance packs up, checking to make sure the truck has enough gas. From the corner of his eye he spots Lance cradling his arm to his chest, rubbing at the bandages with his other hand, and Keith scowls--mostly at himself for letting Lance assure him that his arm felt fine. Clearly it’s not and clearly Keith still has trouble reading Lance after all this time. 

His husband has a knack of hiding his true emotions when he wants. There are some secrets of Lance’s life, of the time when he was surviving on his own, that Keith knows he will never be granted access to. 

When Lance catches him looking, he suddenly adds a pop to his step, hips swinging ridiculously, and bends over too much to be necessary to grab their last supply bag. Keith presses his lips tight to trap his laugh, eyes now pointedly looking at the perimeter instead of Lance. Part of him itches to help Lance, take any weight off his arm, but considering Lance has already finished--a record time, though only due to the fact that Keith isn’t distracting him--and that it would probably end in a stupid argument, he remains the watcher. 

“You thinking again?” Lance asks with a smirk, having wandered over to Keith’s spot. His footsteps had been so quiet; Keith almost missed them. “‘Cause we all know how dangerous that is.”

“I’m dangerous all the time.” Keith’s voice is low, eyes set into a steady gaze. They linger on the bandages but flicker back up to Lance’s face as he stands. 

“I’ll give you that.” They’re an inch away from each other now, and Lance reaches up to brush back Keith’s long bangs. He tucks a lock behind Keith’s ear before it stubbornly falls back into place. “Let’s go home.”

“I’m already home,” escapes Keith before he can quell the thought, knowing how much free ammo he gave Lance. He almost stamps his foot in frustration at himself while Lance’s eyes do nothing but gleam with amusement. 

“That’s cute, love. But cheesiness doesn’t suit you.”

Keith scowls. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” Lance whispers, eyelids fluttering.

Keith leans in, one hand cradling Lance’s face, breath tickling Lance’s lips, and he stops. There’s a wicked grin on his face as he watches Lance’s eyes narrow in realization. “Maybe another time.” 

Shoving him back and scowling, playful annoyance flashes across Lance’s face. “You’re the  _ worst _ .”

_ (8:34 am) _

A light layer of sweat already beads up on Keith’s skin as the sunrise approaches. Their main hideout--an abandoned two story house--is dark, all windows boarded up as they make their way down to the cooler basement to wait out the day. One larger cot is set up near the back corner. Cooking supplies along with their food rations reside in another one. A year or two ago, Lance had stumbled upon a fresh can of paint, leading to decorating the wall behind their bed with blue. It’s the only pop of color in the otherwise gray basement. 

“I’ll take first watch,” Keith automatically says when he spots Lance gazing longingly at their bed. Those dark bags have only become more prominent on his skin when he turns to protest. “I’m taking first watch. Please don’t fight me.”

Their gazes hold a small amount of tension, Keith’s gray-violet eyes glaring at Lance with complete seriousness, before his husband finally sighs in defeat. “You’re lucky I’m tired.” Accepting this loss with all the grace he can, Lance kicks off his shoes and jumps into bed, not even bothering to change. 

“I’ll see you when you wake,” Keith whispers as the sun rises and he takes first watch, always promising and always keeping that promise. He knows Lance has never once believed in anything different.

As Keith sits on the bed, Lance draws Keith’s body into himself, as if wanting to protect him while also needing another heartbeat besides his own to pound against his chest. “See you then.”

**Author's Note:**

> I personally don't like apocalypse AUs, mainly bc they're either zombie aus or too violent (or now too close to reality), but I still wanted to try my hand at one for Klance! So I hope I did the genre justice and that you enjoyed it:)
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


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